


Blinding (It Was You Who Held Me Under)

by eluvians



Series: Hogwarts Verse [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-11
Updated: 2011-09-11
Packaged: 2017-10-23 16:18:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/252350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eluvians/pseuds/eluvians
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's patronus is a butterfly and Dean is the only one who finds this amusing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blinding (It Was You Who Held Me Under)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a part of a larger Hogwarts!AU fic I have, which I hopefully will one day write.

  
It was a quiet afternoon by the Great Lake and Dean Winchester thinks he might die if he doesn’t breathe soon.

_Of course_ Sam’s patronus would be a butterfly. Dean would say as much if he could find it in himself to—

“ _Stop laughing, asshole!_ ” Sam looks incredibly offended, his butterfly spiralling around him anxiously before for fading out of existence.

Which, of course, only causes Dean to double over because, sweet fucking Merlin, this would only ever happen to _Sam._

Castiel frowns at him, looking sombre as per usual. “Dean, I think you are overreacting.”

“C- _Cas_ ,” Dean splutters, “Jesus, did you even see that? Oh my _god_ —”

Cas’ lip twitches. “Sam has done very well and I do not think—”

“A fucking _b-butterfly_ , Cas, I just can’t—”

Sam huffs, and Dean thinks he might be seeing an angry little storm cloud appear over his head any minute now. “Merlin, Dean, could you _be_ —?”

Dean holds up a hand to stop him because, _Jesus_ , couldn’t they see the humour in this? “Come on, Sam, a _butterfly?_ Seriously, what were you expecting? An applause?”

Sam scowls, hair flopping limply as he slumps his shoulders. “I don’t know,” he mumbles, sounding like a wounded gazelle. He glares at Dean. “I didn’t expect you to be such a _jerk_.”

Dean throws an arm around Sam’s massive—fuck, what does this boy _eat_ —shoulders, pulling his head down easily to ruffle his well-groomed head. “Bitch,” he growls fondly. “Like I always say Sammy, expect the unexpected; _especially_ if you’re going to show up with a butterfly as a patronus.”

Sam bitchfaces and Dean grins and everything is glorious. So of course Castiel chooses this moment to intone seriously, “If it is any consolation, Sam, Dean still hasn’t produced a patronus.”

His comment is like a slap, and Dean swallows a number of choice words as anger boils up inside him.

Sam struggles fruitlessly in Dean’s grip, sounds of triumph muffled by Dean’s shirt. A moments struggle and Dean has to let go, lest he be hit by some enormous failing limb. “Ha!” Sam cries, breaking free.

Dean glares at Cas. “Low blow, Milton.”

Cas blinks, sensing the change in Dean’s tone. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Dean, I was simply suggesting—”

“You know what? I don’t give a fuck what you were _simply suggesting_.” Shoving Sam away, Dean avoids their eyes as he turns toward the castle. “Congratulations, Sam. I’ll see you back at the castle.”

Castiel reaches to grab his arm, “Dean, I—”

But Dean shrugs him off without another word, leaving them behind.

 

_“Okay boy, what’s the problem? Why can’t you produce a patronus?_

_Dean stayed silent. Professor Singer’s office is cold, a draft sweeping through from some unknown source and Dean just wanted to disappear._

_Singer sighed heavily. “This should have been covered in fourth year. You should have told me_ before _I sent the Dementors on you, Dean.”_

_“I think letting Dementors run loose on a class of sixth years unannounced answers your question, sir,” Dean snapped, a burst of irritation taking over his tongue._

_Singer grunted in what sounded to Dean like amusement. “Call it a practical lesson. Now. You’re patronus—what happened?”_

_Dean scowled, shame flushing his cheeks. “I don’t know.”_

_“What was the memory you chose?”_

_“I don’t—”_

_Singer cut him off quickly. “I can’t help you if you don’t help me, idjit. What was the memory?”_

_Dean felt the blush deepen as he mumbled, “Sam. Getting his letter to Hogwarts, I—”_

_Singer leaned back in his chair, eyes considering as they swept across Dean. “There’s your problem. That’s not_ your _memory.”_

_Dean straightened, eyes narrowing. “What? What are you talking about? It_ is _my memory—”_

_Singer waved a hand, effectively shutting Dean up. “No, it’s not_ yours _. A patronus feeds of_ your _happiness, Dean.” He looked at Dean steadily. “Yours, not your brothers.”_

_A frown settled across his brows, and he made to get out of his chair. “Professor, if you’re saying I don’t care about Sam—”_

_Singer rolled his eyes and Dean didn’t know whether to be offended. “Sit your ass down, Winchester, and don’t make me say that again. What I am saying is your memory isn’t_ strong _enough—it has to be_ personal fulfilment _.”_

_Dean shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. “It’s the best I could think of.”_

_“Come on now, kid, I know you can do better than that.”_

Dean is lying in his four-poster in Gryffindor tower when he hears the door creak open. He squeezes his eyes closed, rolling over to face away from the door.

Footsteps approach, sounding unsure. “Dean.”

Dean grunts, shifting away. “Go away, Cas. I’m not in the mood.”

“Dean, I—”

Giving up the ghost, Dean sits up, glaring at Cas, who looks so incredibly lost he can’t help but feel his anger die down. “How did you get in here anyway?” Dean asks savagely, because he cannot fucking stop. “Last I knew the Hufflepuff common room was down with the kitchens.”

“Jo let me in,” Cas says, his voice torn. “I told her it was important that I spoke to you.”

“Well,” Dean says, and it’s like someone has taken over his mouth because he cannot help himself, “I’m busy.”

“Yes, you look busy,” Cas sighs, running a hand though his already thoroughly mussed hair, eyes wide a way that did not remind Dean of some kind of small woodland animal. “Dean, I did not mean to offend you.”

Dean grunts, eyes focusing on the loose thread on his sheets, but doesn’t say anything because he is a dick.

Castiel, obviously undeterred, tries again. “I did not know it was a sensitive topic you, Dean, else I would not have brought—”

Dean broke, anger snapping in one swift moment. “Ugh, just shut up, Cas! This isn’t share-and-care time, so just _shove it, Jesus_.”

And then Cas’ face just falls, mouth turning down in an unhappy frown and shoulders slumping, and Dean can’t help himself. He can never help himself when it comes to Cas. Even since they met on the Hogwarts Express, their very first year, Dean has never been able to see Castiel Milton upset.

Taking Cas’ hand, he pulls him down onto the lounge next to him. “Shit, I’m sorry, man. It’s just…I know I am being stupid but…” Dean sighs in frustration. “What was your memory?”

Cas blinks. “What?”

“For your patronus—a eagle, right?” Like Dean could ever forget that majestic creature swooping down from the ceiling to land proudly on Cas’ shoulder—like he could ever forget the look of sheer wonder on Castiel’s face as he stared at the bird on his should like he couldn’t quite believe it was there. “What was your memory?”

Castiel blushes, shifting uncomfortably. “Um…”

Dean doesn’t pause. “Because I don’t have one.” He takes a shuddering breath. “That’s the problem—I can’t think of one happy memory that is enough. And that terrifies me, man. Like, I don’t have one happy memory powerful enough…and I…” Dean trails off, words drying up in his throat.

He thinks maybe if his mum hadn’t passed in the house fire Lucifer’s cronies had started, things would be different; if his dad didn’t hit the drink like it was going to dry up; if he hadn’t take up the mantle as a parent to Sam long before his time; if things were different, would he still be like this?

A long silence stretches between them and Dean is acutely aware that he is still holding Cas’ hand. He lets it rest there until it’s a moment too long and he has to pull away, and he does; but when Cas’ fingers tighten almost imperceptibly, Dean looks up to find Cas staring at him, eyes wide and open, and Dean thinks maybe— _maybe_ —he feels it too; the comfort, the security… _fuck_ , Dean doesn’t even _know_ except that he wants to bottle it up and keep it forever because he’s never felt like this about anyone else. Not once.

“I…” Cas starts, looking almost frightened, as if speaking would break this fragile thing between them. “I…My memory…It’s you.” Cas takes a shuddering breath, his fingers tightening in Dean’s grasp. “I mean, it’s not you but it’s…us…Do you remember that time in fifth year, when I failed that Arithmacy test?” Cas is rushing now, words spilling out like he couldn’t stop them if he tried; Dean nods, but he doubts Cas notices, “And I was so upset about it and when I told you, you told me to _Forget it, Cas, we’re going out_ ,” he says, imitation of Dean spot on and Dean doesn’t know how he should feel about that. “And we snuck out to Hogsmeade and Ellen just laughed at us when we tried to get served at the Three Broomsticks, so you convinced Rufus to let us drink at the Hogs Head and I just…” Cas shakes his head, a smile blooming on his face as if he can’t even help it. “It was just me and you…and I…I could never replace that memory, Dean. It wouldn’t be the same and I…I wouldn’t want to. And that’s my memory when I produce my patronus; every time, that’s my memory.”

“I…,” Dean starts but trails off. Cas’ fingers tighten again, and his smile is brilliant as he stares at Dean with unabashed affection.

“You’ll find your memory, Dean.” Cas sounds so sure of himself that Dean doesn’t think he could bring himself to argue even if he wanted to. “You’ll find your memory.”

And if Castiel sticks around, Dean thinks maybe there is a good chance he will.

 

“So Sam,” Dean says around a mouthful of pie at dinner that evening. They are sitting at the Ravenclaw table with Sam for dinner because he cried and whinged until he let up. Well, that’s Dean’s story and he’s sticking to it.

Cas gives him a disgusted look, so he pauses to swallow. “Have you told Dad?”

Sam looks at him, chicken dangling on his fork. “What?”

Dean grins. “About your patronus. Have you told Dad?”

Cas groans, a hand falling across his face. Dean ignores him.

The colour drains from Sam’s face in a rush, leaving him spluttering out the chicken he just inhaled. “D-Dean— _don’t_ —”

Dean’s grin widened and he starts to rise from his seat. “Naw, Sammy, he’d be proud! In fact, I think he should I should write him _right now_ —”

Sam is up like a flash, making a mad dash as Dean flees to the doors. “DEAN! Dean, _don’t you dare!_ ”


End file.
